Schrödinger.

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Subject: Schrödinger. Sat Sep 25, 2010 10:29 pm

Name:

Schrödinger.

Age:

He has the appearance of a ten or eleven-year-old boy.

Gender:

Male.

Physical appearance:

Fair-haired and pale-skinned, Schrödinger has bright and sharp violet eyes set into his porcelain coloured skin. A narrow nose is perched above thin lips which are morphed into a perpetual smirk. The youthful-seeming boy stands at five-foot-four, is rather thin (not sickly thin, but lanky all the same) and weighs in at somewhere around a hundred and twenty pounds. He has a delicate bone structure, and a very lithe, smooth way of moving, much like the feline hybrid he is. Onto his more cat-like attributes, atop his head are perched two, sleek black cat ears.

Clothing of choice:

Millennium's messenger dresses himself in the traditional uniform that the Hitler Youth wore in the 1930's. It is a standard uniform consisting of black, waist-high shorts, a leather belt and a beige button-down dress shirt. In accessorizing his shirt, he wears a navy blue tie with red stripes on material on the top part, and across the front of his shirt is a strap. Either of his shoulders have little black and white patches. He keeps his hands covered in white gloves that go to the end of his wrist. As for footwear, he wears knee-high black socks with a white stripe around the top of each one, and he sports a pair of polished black lace-up shoes. His uniform is always kept immaculate, and neatly pressed. Upon the sleeve of his dress shirt he wears the symbol of Nazi Germany: Swastika.

Weaponry of choice:

While he himself does not bear any weapons, Schrödinger is, in essence, his own weapon; his blood is highly toxic and capable of an immediate demise should one consume it.

Race:

Supernatural Hybrid.

Abilities:

One of his abilities consists of being able to teleport himself at will, and at rapid speeds. He gloats upon his ability to be 'everywhere and nowhere', and he loves to display that skill to the fullest. Another one of his abilities is that to withstand major amounts of bodily trauma and even death (an ability demonstrated during the meeting of Hellsing, the Convetion of Twelve and Iscariot before Her Majesty when Alucard gave the boy his daily dose of lead). This skill of his comes into affect as long as he is aware of his existance.

Organization:

Millennium.

Personality:

A petulant, snotty boy, Schrödinger is haughty and exceptionally childish in every way. He thinks rather highly of himself, and will not miss out on a single oppertunity to point out his superiority to those around him. Whether that means pointing out his abilities, gloating about how important he is to Millennium and Herr Major, he will do it. He thinks himself to be the best warrant officer Millennium has ever seen - or will ever see. None the less, he is rather tactiful in his approach to the more 'professional' part of his job, dutifully referring to those around him when on the job by their proper titles or other respectful means. When he does something like that, it generally means he's sucking up and wants to get his way because, frankly, he could care less whether or not someone is of a high ranking; look at how he acts around Herr Doktor and take that as an example of bratty behaviour at its finest. He can also be polite, when it benefits him - it's safe to say he's vying for a promotion when he starts dropping the 'please' and 'thank you' bombs.

Not to mention the thought of a good, bloody war excites the hell out of him; he has a taste for chaos and disorder considering his existence is based solely upon these two factors.

Rank:

Oberstammerführer

Biography:

A creation spawning from the genius ideas of Avondale Napyeer, or more commonly known amongst Millennium as Herr Doktor, Schrödinger was created to serve a purpose. And that very purpose was the Millennium group. He was created at first to prove that he could exist. His existance for the first few weeks of his lifespan was spent under close observation and he scrutiny of the Doktor. Vitals monitored constantly, injections by the dozens and other generic procedures were bestowed upon the hybrid: a human life form with genetics mutated based upon quantam physics and posionous materials. The boy was fit to live.

After that, he was deemed efficient enough by several members of Millennium that he was fit to become a part of the Nazi organization. At first, he was given no real rank or position amongst the other soldiers, simply a uniform so that he didn't stand out too dreadfully. So that he wasn't considered a useless sack of flesh by the other Nazis, the main jobs given to him by commanding officers were delieveries: messages, parcels and other things of the sort. Upon gaining the title of warrant officer after a year or so of these odd-jobs and services, Schrödinger was made Herr Major's personal messanger. His duties were given to him specifically by the war-crazed leader, for the fact that they were best suited to his abilities: teleportation and his undying existance.

With several years of experience under his belt, Schrödinger managed to worm his way into the close-knit circle of Millennium's elitest members. His cunning ways, his ability to get his way and to also squirm in and out of trouble upon a whim kept him there, and his love of war - like the other's - truly secured his place amongst them.

RP SAMPLES:

Yeah, they'll be getting there. Eventually.

A solo-Schrödo post. (I should have put him in a box for the giggles)

It was quiet in the Machina that evening; why, he did not know, but it was unnerving. It was as though all the soldiers had gone to bed early, all the officers, everyone. Not one person passed him by in the hall as he lay splayed out across the cold tiling, a handheld videogame clenched between white gloves and nimble fingers, tongue peeking out of his mouth as he muttered with a vehement frustration beneath his breath, promising a swift but still effectively agonizing death to the creators of the Tetris game he was engrossed in.

Those bloody Russians, thinking they made awesome video games.

Well how about no.

Game console pressed up practically against his nose, he kicked his legs back and forth as he tried desperately to align the little pieces, nearly yowling with an inhuman rage as he ended up with a corner right where he didn’t need one. Everything he had gotten up to - level thirty four - was destroyed in that one instance. It was like a failed blitz - only not really, but he felt like they were a good comparison. He slammed his fist down repeatedly upon the floor, kicking his feet spitefully and throwing the console down the hall before out-right face-planting into the cold tiles. That was not fair. At all. He stayed there for a few minutes, breathing heavily through his mouth, willing the rage away the best he could before he decided the slip into someone’s mind and just fuck with everything up there. Rolling over onto his back, lying there spread-eagled as he stared at the ceiling, Schrödinger exhaled noisily, tucking his hands behind his head and glaring at the dull lights overhead that buzzed in a way that made his ears twitch with discomfort. How offensive. Someone on board surely must have been capable of fixing it, right?

But they were all so lazy, so of course it would be another one of the many things on the Machina that no one ever got around to.

The buzzing though, was going to drive him crazy.

Schrödinger socializing with other members of Millennium.

Sauntering into the lab, an air of arrogance floating about him as he moved with the usual feline grace he had been bestowed with upon creation, Schrödinger looked properly smug. Mauve eyes roamed over the medical equipment lying about the room, his attention flitting about everywhere as the light shining upon stainless steel, upon glass, captured his elusive attention. Then they moved from the equipment and to the congregation of individuals in the room - Dok, Zorin, Rip and the nurse with the flaming red hair. An interesting lot, he decided. Fun to pester, too, and the Cat boy was bored - and when feeling so, the little cretin was notorious for stirring up shit; his favourite hobby above all others.

But, from what he listened to as he casually made his way through the room, running his gloved fingertips along surfaces, fiddling with things that looked sharp and potentially dangerous until a medical personnel snatched it from him with a scolding look, or one that was filled with a faint anxiety (perhaps due to the fact that he was Herr Major’s pet, per se), he chose not to pester them.When he focused on their discussion, perking his sleek black ears so that he could hear them perfectly, he realized it was that Shadiya creature that was the topic of discussion. While Schrödinger was not a tactful individual, nor did he care about where his nose belonged or did not, for once he chose to give them their space and pester someone else.

Like that lonely-looking intern on the other side of the room, scribbling furiously across a notebook and muttering rapidly beneath his breath in a mixture of languages that sounded of Polish, German and maybe even Lithuanian.

Standing beside him now (why walk when he could just appear?), the Cat Boy leaned over his desk, blocking him from writing whatever the hell it was he was doing. “Vhat are you doingk?” he purred, curiosity getting the better of him.

“I’m vorkingk,” came the irritated mumble from, according to the tag he wore, Isben. “Vhat else vould I be doingk?”

“How dreadfully boringk,” Schrödinger drawled, yanking out the notebook from beneath the man’s pen and slamming the giant tome before him shut. A tired brown eyes spasmed, but nothing was said. So, taking this as a good sign - or maybe he was one of those quiet ones that lashed out when it was least expected - he flipped through the pages. “Vhat ist zhis crap, anyvay? It looks so stupid, und complicated. Vhy vaste your time?”

“It ist not a vaste of time, you little ingrate. It ist zhe chemical bonds in DNA molecular structuring, somethingk too hard for your little rat brain to comprehend,” Isben hissed in a venom-filled voice, lashing out to grab the book back. The Cat Boy jerked his arm away in a sort of keep-away game from the intern, smirking, showing off his fanged canines. “Give. It. Back.”

“Mmm, how about no?” Schrödinger tittered, choosing this to be a good time to disappear from the lab once more, leaving a snarling, muttering Isben behind. The young man, who was muttering various blasphemies and threats to kill the little experiment-gone-wrong rapidly beneath his breath, was flicking through the book again, trying to find where he had left off before he had been so rudely interrupted. When he realized that this would not be possible, he slammed the book shut once more with a vicious curse and slammed his head down on the table, folding his arms over the back of his head as a steady stream of German-mangled Polish left his lips, vulgar enough to make his overly religious grandmother roll in her grave.

He was going to try and kill the little bastard the next time he saw it.